


Fic: Repo Men

by tahirire



Series: Repo Men 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: sharp_teeth, Gen, Horror, repo 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U after 3.16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Repo Men

  
Repo men   


II.

The first and last thing Sam makes sure he has is the book. No matter how many times they do this, he never can remember how to do it without reading the instructions. The schematics are too technical, too far advanced even for him.   


I.

Sam comes out of the bathroom in his down-time jeans, patting his hair dry with a threadbare white towel. He shakes the strands out of his eyes, looks at Dean, and wrinkles his nose. “Dude, you stink.”

Dean flicks him off with one hand and reaches for the remote with the other. The blackened mark across his shoulder blade from that pool cue at the bar is turning a sickly yellow tone. Sam decides to check the first aid. There should be some vitamin E in there. If not, he’s just going to have to go shopping.

Sam’s stomach turns, and he suddenly remembers that he hasn’t eaten all day. He crosses the room to check the window, pushing back pastel blue curtains to see purple and gold streak across the steaming blacktop. It’s going to be a still night, and if he goes for a walk, the humidity will negate the shower he just took.

Dean clears his throat and Sam turns to see him wince, curling in on his ribs a little. He catches Sam looking and freezes, then decides it isn’t worth the effort of lying, and goes ahead and coughs. It’s wet and deep in his chest, and Sam makes a ruling.

“Gear up. We’re going out tonight.” Sam declares firmly. Dean nods in between coughs and swings his legs down off the bed, reaching for his black t-shirt. Sam reaches for the medical bag, but he doesn’t bother looking inside. They were overdue for a restock anyway, and tonight is as good a night as any.

II.

It doesn’t take Sam long to find what he needs. It used to be that in a small town like this he’d have to plan ahead, sometimes months in advance, but not really so much anymore.

Things have been different since he sprung the devil. People are more wrapped up in themselves and their own problems; no one takes notice of two strangers walking the streets at night these days.

I.

When Sammy says ‘gear up’, Dean knows what it means. His body is screaming from fatigue and torn muscles, but he grins and reaches for his pack. The knives are dull from the last time, and he’s gotta fix that first.

The _snick_ of the whetstone on the blades sparks a surge of adrenaline, something old and familiar he can remember from _Before_ ; but it also reminds him of _During_ , and he tunes the weapons with fine tremors in his hands.

Sam is pacing at the window’s dark edge, blending with the shadows, hazel eyes flickering in between the shades. Dean doesn’t have to look to see that. He can feel it in the air, like electricity. There’s a tug in his chest and he stifles a cough, annoyed.

Sam whips around to stare, questions all over his face. Dean waves him off and reaches for his tattered blue jacket. It’s nothing, just a couple of holes. Still, maybe it _is_ time for a new one.

II.

Sam is perfectly capable of doing this alone, but most of the time Dean comes along. Sam is always glad for his company.

After, when Dean lay gasping in the clear night air and Sam saw his brother’s soul again behind the windows of his eyes, he’d sworn a two-part oath. First, that he would never let another being take Dean away from him again. Second, that he would never put Dean in a position where he would feel compelled to swear the same.

That meant no more dying, for either of them.

The problem was that every living thing dies.

I.

Dean slides behind the wheel and Sam doesn’t argue. There would be no point in it anyway. Dean always was stubborn, and if anything, his time in Hell seems to have made it worse. Most days just having Dean around - hearing the sound of someone else breathing in the room at night– is enough reassurance, but sometimes Sam still wishes he knew what Dean was thinking.

“Turn left at the light,” Sam says, and Dean nods the affirmative. There is an old farm on the outskirts of this town, and tonight a bunch of teenagers will be having a booze fest there, but Sam isn’t interested in them.

What Sam is after is the demon lurking in the trees on the outskirts of the party, fueling young Jason Campina’s alcoholic rage. If the demon plays its cards right, the night might end in murder, and dawn might find Jason’s girlfriend with her brain matter soaking into the grass on the side of highway 54.

The Impala takes the left and Sam flexes his senses, reading deeper into the demon’s mind for more information. He tracks it by smell, feels its heartbeat, and sees its host. He’s an athletic young man, roughly Dean’s build. Sam smiles. Really, he couldn’t have planned this better.

He can almost taste the sulfurous tang of blood.

II.

It’s just dark enough to hide them in the shadows, but not so dark that Dean can’t see Sam’s eyes flickering as the demon draws near. Dean shudders at the feel of Sam’s power flooding the air. Tonight it’s tinged with hunger, and it carries none of the fierce protectiveness that he felt when Sam encircled him and dragged him from the Pit. He ducks behind a different tree. Sam doesn’t need him for this part.

Dean wouldn’t say he was happy when he found out what Sam had done, but no one else was coming for him, and Sam swore up and down there was no other way. He was even less happy the first time he saw Sam’s eyes go black, but it’s not like Dean can talk about Hell changing a person. He took Sam’s knife and used all his newfound skills on Ruby, relishing the sound of her screams until Sam told him _enough already_ , and then he snuffed the bitch.

It was less than she deserved for what she did to his baby brother.

Sam is moving behind him somewhere, and Dean can imagine the startled look on the demon’s face, resting there just underneath the host’s skin. He won’t join Sam until the demon is gone. He can’t stomach seeing their twisted features under human eyes.

He hears Sam chuckle softly and something heavy falls into the leaves. Metal rings out against metal, followed by the whisper of a blade being drawn across skin. The leaves rustle a second time, and Dean knows Sam is kneeling, pinning the demon down with a thought as he takes what he needs.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to take shallow breaths around the bullet hole in his right lung. Sam has perfected the replacement process, blending magic and his demon powers with science to lift the technique to a whole new level, but Dean still doesn’t look forward to the installation part. It’s a shame to have to ditch this lung so soon, but he’s in a high risk line of work.

Two weeks ago, Famine looked at Dean and thought he saw the truth, but he was wrong. Dean is alive as he ever was – on the inside.

“Dean,” Sam materializes right in front of him, wiping his chin on his jacket sleeve, his pupils dark and glittering under the moonlight. “It’s gone. I don’t think anybody saw us, but we better make it fast. There’s kids around.” Sam doesn’t elaborate on what will happen to the rowdy group of teens if they cross him right now. Dean’s seen Sam high enough times to know when it’s safe to piss him off and when it’s not. Sam nods once, clapping Dean on his good shoulder. “All yours. I’ll get the cooler,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Showtime.

Dean walks to the body in the grass. He’ll give Sam this much, the guy is a dead ringer for his build, and that isn’t always the case. Looks like Sam went for the jugular on this one. The demon is gone – burned to ash, no doubt – and the body’s wide brown eyes stare sightlessly into the canopy above. Sam always bleeds them first before he kills the demon. He says it’s because that’s how he absorbs the demon’s power, but Dean thinks it’s really so neither of them ever has to know whether or not the host might have been alive.

Secretly, Dean thinks Sam always knows. He just doesn’t ever say.

Dean kneels beside the body, probably in the exact spot Sam was kneeling moments before, and flicks open his folding knife. That one is for cutting through the clothes, and he slits the guy’s shirt right up the middle and spreads it to the sides before putting that knife away.

He pulls out the fillet knives next.

Dean has the kind of training surgeons only admit they wish they had in their darkest, deepest, most twisted fantasies.Working on a corpse is nowhere near as thrilling as what he’s used to, but this isn’t for fun, it’s for regularly scheduled maintenance. He makes quick work of it, efficiently placing every stroke.

By the time Sam gets back with the cooler, Dean has several organs set aside.Sam whistles, eyeing their score as he helps load up. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me for later,” he states sarcastically. Dean shrugs. There are plenty of demons in the world, but not a lot of good matches, so he stocks up when he can.

Dean goes to lift the cooler, wheezing a little in the process. Sam stops him with a tap on the back, taking over without asking. He starts to walk back to the car, but then he frowns, setting the cooler down again. Sam looks like he’s running a mental checklist. His eyes narrow. “You forgot something,” he accuses.

Dean chews his lip.

“Dean, seriously, you have got to stop being so stubborn about this. It’s not gonna grow back on its own, you know.”

Dean squares his shoulders and glares, daring Sam to push it.

Sam laughs loud and free as he circles back, plants his foot on the dead man’s neck and _snaps_ , the motion practiced and fluid. He shakes his head as he leans over the man, shaggy hair falling into his eyes. There is a series of twisting _pop_ sounds, and Sam rips something loose with an almost careless tug. His prize flops heavily back and forth as Sam, giddy from the high he’s riding, practically waves it in Dean’s face.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me _sometime,”_ he sing-songs.

Dean shakes his head, flicking Sam off with both hands. _No way_.

Sam rolls his eyes and drops the quivering organ into their small cooler anyway. “This is stupid, man. Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, I’m tired of you not helping me on cases.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. It’s the _principle_.

“What? It’s not like you can catch anything!”

So not the point.

“You’ve had other people’s tongues in your mouth _plenty_ of times.”

Also not the point. And those were chicks.

“Whatever. We’ll talk about this later.”

Dean sighs as he follows Sam back to the car. It’s going to be a long night.

I.

People are born. They wear out. They die. They come back, if they’re lucky.

Sam never did have luck. First he died, then his brother went to Hell, and it was pretty much downhill from there. He was determined to make it on his own. He trusted a demon, he got hooked on the devil’s acid, and he busted Lucifer from his cage.

When Lucifer came for him, he decided he couldn’t keep doing it alone, no matter what it cost them both. Some people come back, if they’re lucky. Sam never did have luck.

But Sam had the book.


End file.
